


How Gay Culture Liberated the Modern World

by panshambles



Series: Minutt for minutt [2]
Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Even Bech Næsheim and Isak Valtersen Meet Differently, Enemies to Lovers, Insecure Isak, Internalized Homophobia, Isak says some off-colour things at the worst time/place, M/M, One Shot, POV Even Bech Næsheim, Panphobic comment, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Trans!Mutta, Use of queer slurs (by queer characters)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-29 02:09:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13917147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panshambles/pseuds/panshambles
Summary: This one-shot is inspired by the drabble prompts:"I can't believe you talked me into this.""Well this is awkward..."“Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”--Or, Even and the Bakka squad run the LGBT+ Society at UiO where they're all studying. As part of their club activities they run events in the basement of the radical queer bookshop that Adam & Mikael manage. These events have gotten a reputation around Oslo as the Bohemian Salon where tongues and morals are loose... Eskild ends up at one of these events and brings along his recently-outed flatmate Isak, and it's only a matter of time til he puts his foot in his mouth.





	How Gay Culture Liberated the Modern World

 

 

The bohemian salon that took place once a month in the basement of Lighthouse (the radical queer bookshop in Grünerløkka) was infamous throughout Oslo. It was run by a group of students at UiO, the same group who also ran the LGBT+ society—a bunch of Bakka graduates, who allegedly held anything from book clubs to film screenings to full-on orgies in the bowels of that establishment, if you believed the rumours.

No-one knew exactly what went on, or how they got away with it. All that anyone knew was that it was bohemian—nonconformist, alternative, avant-garde—and called itself a ‘salon.’ Whatever that really meant. It brought to mind the parties Gertrude Stein held in her Parisian apartment, where Alice B. Toklas and Pablo Picasso and Ernest Hemingway would show up and debate intellectual ideas, challenge conventions, make art, be political. And then probably all have an orgy. (The rumours tended in one direction).

But the Lighthouse by day—and above ground—was an ordinary bookshop. Granted, it was the radical queer bookshop, so most of its shelves were full of avant-garde poetry and fiction and nonfiction, and political manifestos, and histories of left-wing struggles, and academic works on the liberal agenda, but it was still an ordinary bookshop. And it was owned by a sweet Muslim couple, Amreen and Hasif, whose son, Adam, had no interest in going to university, but instead wanted to manage the shop for them.

So Adam became the manager when he turned 22, and co-ran it with his boyfriend Mikael. The rest of their friends (most from Bakka), were in UiO: Elias studied Human Resources and stopped by the shop most days to complain about his latest myopic lecture on equality and diversity from an old white male professor who understood neither; Mutta was majoring in Gender Studies, so was essentially always in Lighthouse, scouring their shelves and demanding new titles for Mikael and Adam to buy; Yousef studied Anthropology and hung around Elias in hopes he would eventually get the courage to speak to Elias’s younger sister Sana; and Even was on the Media Studies course, hoping to major in film direction.

Even had founded the LGBT+ society in UiO, and when he struggled to get space on campus to run any events, it came naturally that the basement of the Lighthouse became the site of choice. Adam and Mikael benefited from the regular custom, and the space was big enough for different activities, but small enough to still be cosy and intimate.

The basement was accessed through the bookshop, down a cast iron spiral staircase. It was intended as a store primarily—and there was a makeshift storeroom in one corner, next to the washroom, but otherwise it was an open-plan space, which the boys had decked out, replete with collapsible dividing walls, fairy lights, walls covered in pride flags and newspaper clippings and posters, and a stockpile of alcohol next to the soundsystem that Elias had set up.

Not long after the soundsystem was installed, Adam brought in a chaise longue, arguing that if they were running ‘Society Events,’ it had to be a classy affair. Mikael then spotted a Japanese folding screen in a charity shop and insisted on buying it for the basement. After that, it became a pet project for the Bakka squad—and soon the basement looked far less like a concrete storeroom and instead a Wilde-era boho-chic underground (in every sense) headquarters.

The first event they held—an open mic—was so popular that both the basement and the bookshop above were full of people. It was probably a fire hazard—and Mikael was more than a little stressed on Adam’s behalf—but nothing bad happened. In fact they sold more books that night than they had the previous week.

Even was the host, and couldn’t believe how well it went. They had everything from poetry recitations, to comedy stand-up, to sing-a-longs. As the opening LGBT+ event, it was a resounding success, and he was thrilled to see the ease and pride in the room. He’d dreamed of being this confident in himself, this driven, and this open—and it was finally all coming together.

One of the most touching parts about that night was the smoke break he shared with Mutta, in the alleyway next to the bookshop (that led into a small brick-walled pathway eventually coming out the next street over). It was as he lit up his second cigarette that Mutta blurted out, ‘I’m trans. I—I haven’t told anyone yet. I just… I didn’t know how to bring it up.’

Even had been so taken aback by this that he didn’t speak for a few seconds. ‘Mutta, that’s—that’s great!’

Then he’d realised what he’d just said and panicked. ‘Oh—I mean. Do…do you want me to—should I still call you Mutta?’

Mutta had laughed at that and nodded his head. ‘Yeah. Mutta is my name. Don’t worry, it’s not my deadname, and you haven’t been misgendering me. I’m a trans man. I transitioned the year before I met you all.’

Even had nodded, absorbing this information. Where the rest of them had met in Bakka and became fast friends, they hadn’t become friends with Mutta until they met in UiO.

‘Man, I’m so happy you told me. That’s awesome,’ Even had said at last, bringing Mutta into a hug. He said it lightly, but it felt _huge_. As a cis man, Even knew he could barely fathom the struggle of gender identity, but he had an inkling for how much trust Mutta had just shown him.

‘Would you…would you rather I keep this between us?’ he’d asked.

Mutta had shrugged and smiled. ‘It feels less like a secret, now. I want to be out and proud, like you.’

Even’s heart had swelled in his chest. Pride, indeed. All he felt in that moment was pride. He pulled Mutta in for another close hug.

 

So, Lighthouse was a the HQ for the LGBT+ society in UiO. But it was Even’s primary site of comfort, and he ended up there most days, decreasingly from habit, and increasingly from the sure knowledge that it lived up to its name as a beacon for safety. And _home_.

Today, however, Lighthouse was about to get an intruder.

Adam and Mikael were going through Mutta’s latest list, somewhat passive aggressively titled ‘Missing Books,’ and looking them up online to make sure they wanted to stock them. Mutta had a habit of throwing in curveballs just to screw with them—the 25 copies of Michel Houellebecq’s _Atomised_ were still in a box in the ‘store.’

Even was dawdling by the sexuality section (which was next to the cashier desk), glancing through some of the new titles, when the door bell tinkled and two guys entered the shop. Adam and Mikael were still concentrating on the list, and barely noticed. Even however looked around and his eyes fell on Eskild and Isak.

Eskild had been at the silent disco the LGBT+ society held in the basement the Friday before. He was an energetic, friendly guy, and Even had warmed to him at once. It helped that Eskild had dressed up in glitter tights and brought enough wine to share with almost everyone. He’d also brought his roommate, Isak.

And Isak happened to be a giant asshole.

After the door shut behind the two of them, Eskild looked around at Adam, Mikael and Even and put on a cheery grin. ‘Halla, gutta! How have we recovered since Friday?’

Adam and Mikael noticed him, then, and immediately broke out into matching smiles, which faded just slightly when their eyes drifted to Isak.

‘Eskild! Good to see you, man,’ Adam laughed as Mikael walked around the desk and brought Eskild in for a hug. They pointedly did not acknowledge the other presence in the room.

‘We’re good,’ Even said, to Eskild only, ‘how was the rest of your weekend?’

Eskild explained how hungover he’d been Saturday morning, and Adam and Mikael commiserated. The three engaged in fast-fire conversation at once, leaving Even and Isak at loose ends, trying to do anything but look at each other.

Even was fuming. _Why the fuck is he here? How does he even have the balls to darken our door after his behaviour on Friday?_

In the midst of his grumbling internal monologue, Even did not notice how Mikael had gently tried to include Isak in their chat, asking if he had a good night at the silent disco.

The room fell quiet.

Clearly uncomfortable, Isak shifted from one foot to the other, staring at the floor in what seemed at first like surliness, and then like embarrassment. Adam frowned at Mikael and muttered something in Arabic, to which Mikael jabbed him with an elbow and shook his head. Meanwhile, Eskild seemed fascinated with the fingernails on his left hand.

Even was annoyed at how much Isak’s apparent vulnerability made him ten times more attractive. _No. He’s a dick. Doesn’t matter that he’s attractive. Still a dick._

But then Even’s mind was stuck on the word ‘dick,’ and his dick, and then Isak’s dick, and then he closed that mental door and locked it.

At last Isak spoke up, ‘I… I’m sorry about Friday. I was … out of line.’

The apology seemed like it was _intended_ to be sincere, it just sounded more bitter than it did genuine.

Adam’s frown continued as he started aggressively punching price tags onto the pile of books in front of him with a label gun, keeping his eyes fixed on Isak.

The apology, however, seemed to have the desired effect on Mikael, who stood forward and gently pressed his arm around Isak in a half-hug. ‘No harm, no foul,’ he said at last, smiling happily. Eskild lit up, and started hopping on his tiptoes in glee.

‘See, baby gay? Told you,’ he preened.

Isak rolled his eyes and balled his hands into fists inside the pockets of his hoodie. Irrationally, Even wanted to shove him up against the shelves and … tell him what’s what. And then give it to him better than that. _No! Lock that door, Christ._

‘Even’s got another event coming up,’ Mikael announced, circling back around the desk to get a leaflet from the LGBT+ society. Glancing at it quickly, he handed it to Eskild and said, ‘It’s the next Salon. You’d be more than welcome.’

Eskild gasped, ‘A Salon? You’re inviting me to a Salon?’

‘It’s not as scandalous as the rumours insist,’ Even explained, pulling a book off the shelf in his attempt to not look at Isak.

Mikael then handed a leaflet to Isak, and quietly murmured, ‘Olive branch?’ At Isak’s lack of response, Mikael clarified, ‘You’d be welcome, too.’

Hearing Mikael’s offer, Even spun around on his left heel and glared at him. In that moment he wished more than ever that he had fluent Arabic so he could hiss his protest at Mikael without Isak knowing the extent of his ire.

What he saw irritated him even more: Isak looked at the leaflet and then at Mikael, before waving a hand off and muttering, ‘Not really my scene.’

That was _it_ for Even. He threw the book he’d just pulled off the shelf straight at Isak’s chest.

Though shocked at being struck with a book missile, Isak caught it before it fell to the ground, and stared in horror at Even. ‘What the fuck?’

‘It’s a history of gay culture. See the title?’ Even said with as much bitterness as he could muster, ‘ _How Gay Culture Liberated the Modern World_. Why don’t you join it?’

With that, he stormed out and slammed the door shut behind him.

\--

He automatically veered toward Tim Wendelboe’s in search for a coffee. Maybe a pastry, too. Fuck it.

Even was so frustrated. He couldn’t understand how Isak was so intolerant, so ignorant, so _hot_ —

_Damnit, lock the door._

But he was more frustrated at himself for losing his temper. He hated being that impulsive, that aggravated. He knew nothing would come of flying off the handle like that. But Isak just set off a rage in him. Ever since he’d put his foot in it at the silent disco the previous Friday.

> It had started out as a promising night. Even had curated a _perfect_ playlist, composed of just bi/pan musicians. He’d also gotten a bunch of Bluetooth headphones from the Media Studies department for the evening, which he could hook up to the soundsystem, where he’d link the Spotify playlist. It was flawless.
> 
> Mikael and Adam provided the drinks while Elias and Mutta acted as doormen. Just as the last wave of people arrived, Even snuck out into the small alleyway for a smoke break before they started the event in earnest.
> 
> Cue Eskild and Isak.
> 
> Of course, Even had spotted Isak immediately. He’d assumed at first the hot blonde was the glitter-bespangled guy’s boyfriend, but when said glitterfairy sauntered over and batted his eyelashes at Even, suggestively asking if this was where the cool kids hung out, he began to realise his assumption was probably false.
> 
> The hot blonde hung back a few paces, his hands fisted awkwardly in his jean pockets, looking at his friend with exasperation. ‘Eskild? Can you stop flirting with strangers so we can just head in to this thing?’
> 
> _Ah, that’s his name._ Even stuck his hand out and introduced himself. As Eskild shook his hand, his mouth dropped open. ‘You’re _Even_? The head of the society?’
> 
> Trying not to laugh at Eskild’s star-struck expression, Even nodded and lit the joint that he had tucked behind his ear.
> 
> Then, turning to the hot blonde, he extended his hand again. ‘Even.’
> 
> ‘Isak,’ he replied, quickly leaning forward to shake Even’s hand, and then stepping back again. Nervous energy crackled around him, and he seemed overly keen on avoiding maintaining any direct eye contact.
> 
> ‘This is _Even_ ,’ Eskild explained. ‘He’s the reason all this is happening in the first place.’
> 
> Isak looked at Even, and shrugged, then looked at Eskild as if to say _Yeah, so?_ ‘Alright. I still can’t believe you talked me into this.’
> 
> Ignoring this completely, Eskild rounded on Even again and seemed about to launch into another explanation when Even cut him off.
> 
> ‘You want a hit?’ Even offered the joint to him, but Eskild sighed dramatically and shook his head.
> 
> ‘Doesn’t agree with me,’ he lamented. ‘And I should be heading inside, but I’ll see you later, handsome?’
> 
> Eskild asked this with such obvious interest that Even couldn’t hold in his chuckle. With another long-suffering sigh, Eskild waved a hand and wandered into the bookshop.
> 
> Isak lingered, still shuffling around and keeping his hands in his pockets.
> 
> ‘Can I interest you?’ Even asked, offering out the joint. At that, Isak perked up and shrugged again, taking hold of the joint and taking one, two, three hits.
> 
> Even was ( _absolutely not_ ) staring at his lips the whole time. But before Even could get a chance to hit on him some more, Mutta appeared and told Even they were starting in five minutes.
> 
> ‘ _Fett_ ,’ Even said, and then realised neither of the guys in front of him knew the other. ‘Oh, Mutta, this is Isak; Isak, this is Mutta.’
> 
> Mutta shook hands with Isak and smiled; Isak nodded stiffly and resumed staring at his shoes until Even gave him the joint.
> 
> Wanting to be polite as always, Mutta asked Isak if he went to UiO (he did; he was studying physics with the hope of doing the 2 year Masters in astronomy). Then asked how Isak found out about the silent disco (Eskild had been meaning to get involved in the LGBT+ society for ages, and dragged Isak along tonight).
> 
> ‘Yeah I noticed you said Eskild “talked you into” coming,’ Even said. ‘Not a fan of socialising?’
> 
> Isak shrugged again, and sighed. ‘It’s just… you know. I’m not like a gay-gay.’
> 
> His answer shocked both Even and Mutta into silence. _Oh, no,_ Even thought. _Not another self-hating monosexual._
> 
> ‘What do you mean?’ Mutta asked, trying again to be polite.
> 
> ‘Well…like Eskild.’
> 
> ‘What is it that he’s like?’ Even prompted.
> 
> ‘You know what I mean, right?,’ Isak muttered, ‘He talks loudly about sucking cock and Kim Kardashian and lavender scent. I respect that he goes all the way on the gay-thing but it’s just…I’m not like that.’
> 
> Even could see Mutta barely contain himself from rolling his eyes. Even sensed, though, the needling insecurity beneath Isak’s confession, that desperate uncertainty about himself, the discomfort with what was clearly a new self-awareness.
> 
> So he gently replied, ‘I’m sure he’s just trying to be himself, Isak.’
> 
> ‘I didn’t mean to… Of course he is,’ Isak bit back defensively, ‘I mean…it seems everyone has to associate being gay with being like that. And… that kinda sucks, for those of us who aren’t like that. It’s not like… it’s not like I’m gonna wear mascara and tights and join Gay Pride just because—’
> 
> He suddenly cut himself off, coughed and shrugged again. ‘Whatever. It doesn’t matter.’
> 
> It was obvious how vulnerable Isak felt, and Even couldn’t help but feel protective of him, and wanted to talk him through his internalised homophobia, get him to _see_ how beautiful he was, how _free_ he could be if he let go of fear and hatred. Despite how prickly Isak was being, Even was just endeared, he just wanted to wrap him up in love and acceptance until he felt more at ease. That, and Even wanted to grab a hold of his curls and then feel how good his lips would be on his own.
> 
> His reverie was punctured by the sound of Mutta’s phone going off, and he quickly picked it up, throwing an apologetic glance at Even, mouthing the word ‘Mama.’ Just as he turned away to answer it, Even offered the last of the joint to Isak, who looked askance at Mutta and said, ‘Does she not want any?’
> 
> Unfortunately before Even could explain that Isak had just misgendered Mutta, Mutta overheard, and Even did not miss the way his eyes widened in hurt. Isak noticed the shift in energy and looked between Even and Mutta in complete confusion.
> 
> ‘What?’
> 
> Even jumped in: ‘Mutta’s pronouns are he/him.’
> 
> Isak’s brow furrowed. And then he asked the most blunt, indiscreet question Even had never expected. ‘Why?’
> 
> _Oh jesus, fuck_. Even closed his eyes in second-hand hurt and embarrassment.
> 
> ‘What do you mean “why”?’ Mutta asked, before remembering he was still on the phone. ‘Listen, mama, I have to go, bye,’ he said into the phone, before ending the call and sticking it back in his pocket, and rounding on Isak again.
> 
> _‘_ What did you mean _“why”_?’
> 
> Isak sensed Mutta’s sharpness and seemed more confused than ever. ‘I just—It was automatic. I didn’t mean to offend you? I just saw you and thought “she”.’
> 
> ‘Not helping,’ Even said, exasperated.
> 
> The turn of events seemed to make Isak visibly frustrated and angry in response, now.
> 
> ‘Fuck, it was an honest mistake. Don’t get so uppity about it, jesus. You really are exactly as I thought,’ he muttered, turning heel and walking into the bookshop.
> 
> Even watched him go, in utter disbelief. He sensed his notable _lack of apology_ was still born of his discomfort (and latent cis privilege), and just needed to be enlightened a bit, but he couldn’t help but feel disappointed.
> 
> ‘Mutta, I’m so sorry,’ he said at last.
> 
> Mutta waved him off and laughed. ‘If I got upset every time a cis guy got pissed at me for being myself, I’d spend my life crying. It’s no biggie,’ he said, shrugging.
> 
> Unable to see the masked hurt in Mutta’s face anymore, Even jumped forward and wrapped him in a bear hug, rubbing a soothing hand down his back in between whispered encouragements. ‘I love you. You’re valid. Cisgendered ignorant assholes don’t get the privilege of being your friend, and that’s punishment enough.’
> 
> Mutta smiled silently into Even’s shoulder and squeezed back.
> 
> \--
> 
> During the disco, Isak stayed next to the pile of booze in the corner, refusing to put on a set of headphones, or speak to anyone who wasn’t Eskild. It wasn’t long before he was shitfaced, leaning against a stack of six-packs.
> 
> Though the party was in full swing, and the silent disco was so popular that there was barely space to walk from one side of the room to the other, Even’s eyes kept drifting to Isak. And though it started off pretty innocent, around midnight, there were clear exchanges happening on the makeshift dancefloor—small white pills knocked back, or long sniffs taken from cocaine bullets—and the goofy dancing was replaced with grinding, full-on making out, the occasional exhibitionist hand drifting beneath someone’s clothes.
> 
> Not long after watching Elias take his third bump, Even glanced over at Isak again, who still looked so lonely and helpless, just lingering next to the alcohol, a can clutched in his left hand like it was a lifeline.
> 
> Before he had really thought about it, he wandered over, and leaned on the wall next to Isak, letting out a soft ‘Hey,’ easily heard when the music was limited to everyone’s headphones.
> 
> Isak glanced up and, upon seeing who addressed him, scoffed and took another sip of his beer. ‘Here to lecture me again?’
> 
> Even sighed. ‘Isak. You misgendered my friend. That wouldn’t be such a big deal if he was cis. But he’s an out and proud trans man. So misgendering him is a _big deal_. Especially when it’s gently pointed out to you and your response is to get _defensive_ and not even offer an _apology_.’
> 
> Contra to Even’s expectations once more, Isak laughed. _Laughed_. ‘So the answer to my question was a resounding yes,’ he said with a sneer, taking another gulp of his beer.
> 
> Isak’s evident indifference to being so hurtful made Even’s skin crawl. He reminded himself again, _this is coming from a place of self-hatred, it’s not about Mutta really, it’s just his own pain coming out as aggression_.
> 
> But then Isak looked up at the dancefloor and rolled his eyes. ‘Typical. One hour in and the Lighthouse starts living up to its name.’
> 
> Even followed Isak’s line of sight—and in fairness, Elias was sandwiched between two guys, one of whom had both hands inside Elias’s zipper, the other’s tongue was firmly in his ear. It was pretty gross.
> 
> Still, Even felt defensive now, and Isak didn’t get a say in judging them. ‘I have a feeling you’re mostly jealous. You’ve been mighty attached to corners tonight.’
> 
> ‘Better than being attached to some randomer’s wandering hands.’
> 
> Even rolled his eyes. ‘What’s so wrong with that? We’re all consenting adults.’
> 
> ‘Look,’ Isak bit back, ‘just because I’ve been outed doesn’t mean I’m gonna _go all-out_ and feel up some dude in an underground queer cult.’
> 
> Though Even was exasperated at Isak’s summary of the Lighthouse, he was more concerned at his first admission. ‘You were outed?’
> 
> He doesn’t get a response. Isak just tugs at the ringpull on his can and shrugs, which Even realises is his first line of defence against the world. Just shrug when it pains too much.
> 
> _Well shit. He was outed. And it’s his first year in university, not even two months in. And he was outed. No wonder he’s prickly and defensive._
> 
> ‘ _Faen_. I’m—I’m sorry, Isak—’
> 
> Isak cut him off at once, ‘Don’t. I don’t need your fucking pity. Why are you even here, anyway?’
> 
> ‘I saw you on your own,’ Even explained, ‘I don’t like seeing people on their own.’
> 
> ‘Well I’ve got an unfortunate truth for you,’ Isak muttered.
> 
> ‘Oh?’
> 
> ‘We’re all fucking alone,’ he said, knocking the last of his beer back, and throwing the can angrily at the wall opposite him.
> 
> ‘Isak—’ Even began.
> 
> ‘No. Why are you here? Really?’ Isak asked with increasing bitterness, ‘Are you even queer? Because you look like every other metrosexual straight guy who feels up a twink on the weekend before they roll back into bed with their bimbo girlfriend.’
> 
> Even tried very hard not to take offence, and pointed at the pan-pride bandana on his forehead. ‘I didn’t think I was being subtle about it.’
> 
> Isak rolled his eyes. ‘Great. Someone else who sleeps around.’
> 
> At that, Even felt the sting of hurt across his chest and reeled back as if it really had been a physical attack. It was one thing to get panphobia from an ignorant straight person; another thing entirely from someone in your own community.
> 
> Luckily, Eskild had wandered over just as Isak had spat out his latest offence, and overheard it. He immediately grabbed Isak by the elbow, cursing something in his ear, and turning to Even with a string of apologies. ‘He’s not usually like this,’ ‘He’s just way too drunk,’ ‘He’ll take it all back in the morning,’ ‘He’s been going through some shit recently, he doesn’t mean a word.’
> 
> Even barely heard him, just waved it off like Mutta had waved off the misgendering, and watched Eskild tug a wobbly Isak up the spiral staircase and out of the bookshop.
> 
>  

So no, Isak didn’t deserve Even’s understanding. As he went on his rage-walk around Løkka, his mind was turning over and over what had happened on Friday, trying to convince himself his fury was justified.

It was only when he thought of the miserable look on Isak’s face that whole night that his resolve wavered.

_Shit. Everyone deserves understanding. Especially the ones who don’t even understand themselves._

Still, he didn’t have a chance to test that theory, as Isak didn’t come to the next event (a book club: they were reading _The Well of Loneliness_ ), or the one after that (a film screening: _Milk_ ), and it annoyed Even that each time he _noticed_ Isak’s absence, in a way that betrayed how he kind of _missed_ it, weirdly.

 _Though he’s the hottest thing I’ve seen in years, it doesn’t excuse his cis white male entitlement complex_. _Ugh._

_If he wasn’t such a massive asshole I’d happily eat it out._

 

\--

Even saw Isak everywhere all of a sudden.

In the library. At KB. Hell, even at the London Bar when he was out with the Lighthouse crew a few weeks later.

They’d all met up on a Saturday evening to catch up, and chose the London Bar because Mikael insisted he was not going to endure any ‘straight men music playlist’ when they went out anymore.

It was as Even went to the bar to order a second round of drinks that he recognised the familiar mop of blonde curls in a booth opposite.

_Goddamn._

He was torn between a latent anger, and frustration of another, equally aggressive, kind. Isak looked fucking good, in a tight t-shirt that showed off his chest and shoulders, and skinny jeans. Most of all, he noticed a snapback he’d not seen Isak wear before, and he was surprised to find it really did something for him.

Still, he resisted the urge to go over and say something. Isak was with three other guys he didn’t recognise, and if they didn’t accompany Isak to Lighthouse, it was possible they were his straight friends that Isak would be embarrassed to introduce to the head of the LGBT+ Society.

So, Even went back to the boys.

Half an hour later, he went to the bathroom. When he unzipped his jeans at the urinal and started peeing, he heard the door open behind him. Soon Isak was standing next to him, stoically maintaining fixed eye contact with the wall as he unbuttoned his jeans and pushed his boxers down.

There was an immediate tense silence between them. As he finished, Even couldn’t help himself. Without his conscious thought, his eyes moved of their own accord, and looked down at Isak.

There was something so arousing about the fact that this was so illicit, so taboo, staring openly at another man’s dick as they were both standing at the urinal. It was only when he realised Isak would _notice_ this that he looked up—only to find that Isak was also staring at him, his eyes fixed on the dick between Even’s fingers.

Feeling Even’s eyes on him, then, Isak looked up and turned away, shaking, hitching, buttoning, then he washed his hands swiftly and was about to run out of the bathroom, when he stopped.

Still facing the door, Isak said, ‘Fuck. I really crossed a line. And I know now why it was so unacceptable. I’m—I am sorry.’

Even was now washing his hands at the sink. He knew this was about more than what had just happened. But something in Isak’s vulnerability made him want to assuage his conscience rather than just acknowledge the apology.

So as he shook his hands dry, he replied, ‘No big deal. _Well_ …I mean, it’s not a _huge_ deal, just _bigger than average_ —’

Isak wheeled around and gaped at him. ‘Seriously _? Herregud_ , Even. I was talking about everything on Friday, not your _dick_!’

Even couldn’t help laughing at the absurdity of the situation, so hard that he had to close his eyes. When he finally calmed down, he saw how Isak’s face had softened, as he looked at Even fondly, a small smile growing that showed his cute teeth.

‘Wow,’ Even said at last, ‘have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?’

‘Shut up,’ Isak mumbled, still smiling.

\--

The next night was _The Salon_. What Eskild apparently didn’t know—along with half of Oslo—was that it was never intended as a lotus-eating den of iniquity as the talk of the town implied. How it all really started was the day Even first watched _Dead Poets’ Society_ and insisted that the LGBT+ society run something similar.

‘Think of it! We all bring our favourite queer poems, stories, anecdotes, histories, and read them aloud to each other—in candlelight! And—and let ourselves free, you know? Like Neil and Charlie did!’

‘Yeah you seem to forget how that movie ended,’ Yousef rebutted pointedly.

Even waved him off. ‘This is not a prim and preppy boarding school in New England in the 50s. This is Oslo, today. And we can still live deep and suck the marrow out of life! Come on! Let’s do it!’

Unable to resist Even’s enthusiasm, the rest of the boys acquiesced, and so it began once a month—on the condition that no one referred to it as the Dead Poets’ Society but (after much debate), the Salon.

It went as it usually went, though this particular night was slightly more indulgent than usual. Adam had taken the Thoreau poem from the film quite seriously, announcing, as he entered the bookshop with a covered tray that evening, ‘We cannot go to the woods, but nature can come to us. “I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life!”,’ he shouted in English, ‘and what better way to live deliberately than …’

He paused, pulling back the tea towel draped across the tray, and revealed a fat swathe of something sweet and baked.

‘…to eat weed brownies?’

The boys erupted in cheers and brought the snacks down to the basement at once.

A hour or so later, as the Salon really kicked off—nearly 40 people had come—Even realised the brownies were _particularly_ strong.

Even remembered Elias making out with some bookshop regular, shortly before Noora’s hand began trailing higher and higher up Eva’s thigh, and Mutta getting flustered when a sweet kid wearing a bi pin started hitting on him.

The lights were low, and there was a steady stream of people standing up to perform a poem, or a song, or tell a story, as everyone got higher and higher.

The room was permeating an enthusiastic but mellow buzz—it wasn’t quite the Dead Poets’ Society kind of raucous fun, but it was moving, it was enlightening, it was…well, in fairness, Even was quite high by this point, so it felt like the whole world had narrowed down to the orange light reflecting off the Japanese folding screen, the feel of the velvet chaise longue beneath him, the soft murmurs of someone reading their favourite queer poem aloud, the fuzziness of his vision and senses as he sank back in contentment.

\--

Then Eskild arrived, with Isak in tow.

 _Fuck_. Never mind the high he was on, Even needed a smoke break.

He managed to avoid passing them closely and wound his way back up the staircase and outside.

Mutta joined him to tell him about the nonbinary kid, Chris, the same one with the bi pin, who had just asked Mutta if he wanted to join them for a coffee the next day. Just as Even was about to ask more, the door opened and out stepped—Isak.

Everyone stilled.

‘Well…this is awkward,’ Mutta huffed.

Isak stepped forward and shyly said, ‘Mutta…I am really sorry about misgendering you last time. And for not apologising before. I was a total dickhead about it, but you should know none of my shittiness was about you. It was a real white-boy-in-his-feelings moment, and I’m sorry.’

There was a pause as Mutta absorbed Isak’s sincere apology, before he nodded and smiled. ‘It’s cool, man. I appreciate that.’

Even couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. _He’s accepting himself more._

An awkward silence fell between the three as Even’s eyes stayed fixed on Isak, who returned his gaze, both suddenly unaware of Mutta’s presence.

‘I’ll…go then,’ he said, scoffing at how enraptured Even was, before he went back inside.

Isak walked forward until he was standing next to Even. Even suddenly didn’t know what to say, as he finished the last hit of his joint and then stamped it under his foot.

Another tense silence followed. Clearly Isak wasn’t going to say anything else, and Even reminded himself that aside from their moment in the London Bar, Isak had been nothing but an asshole to him, and he needed to be careful.

So Even shrugged and said, ‘Better head back inside.’

‘Wait,’ Isak said, holding a hand out on Even’s arm. ‘I feel like if I apologise again it’ll just sound empty. But I'm learning to be more accepting, and I get now that it's a process of unlearning stuff, too.’ Then he pulled a joint out of his pocket. ‘Truce?’

Even let another smile slip. _He was trying. He really was trying._

‘Alright,’ he conceded, ‘But I’ll need something stronger if I’m to get through another conversation with a cisprivileged monosexual white boy,’ he teased.

Isak raised his eyebrows. ‘I could help you there.’

‘You have something?’

‘Maybe.’

Isak tucked the joint behind his ear and then reached into his pocket. A second later he pulled out a round white pill. What he did next, though, made Even nearly bust a nut then and there.

Keeping eye contact the whole time, Isak placed the pill on the tip of his tongue, and then rested it on his bottom lip, sticking out to Even in a clear invitation.

A moment that stretched into infinity dragged out in front of Even’s eyes as he realised what Isak was offering.

The shape of his cupids bow above the pill that was now held up by Isak’s tongue—the bright green eyes that seemed to say _I know you want this_ —the fucking snapback he was wearing again, like he _knew_ —the smell of his cologne—the feel of his warm breath—

‘You smug dick,’ Even muttered.

A brief waver of insecurity flashed in Isak’s eyes, but then Even quickly hooked a hand around his neck, and brought him into a deep kiss, swallowing the pill at once, and sliding his tongue between Isak’s lips instead.

The kiss was heated immediately, Even grabbing hold of Isak’s hair with both hands, while Isak’s hands slid down his back and the curve of his spine til they squeezed firmly at his ass.

Even was both surprised and _heavily_ turned on by this show of confidence, but couldn’t help chuckle a bit. ‘Someone’s cocky.’

Isak looked at him through his lashes and murmured, ‘Well you’re the one who keeps talking about dicks.’

(Even laughed so loudly Mikael texted him from the basement to shut up).


End file.
